


Subtle victory. Or, the Distillation of Sentiment.

by Beginning_Returner



Series: On the True Nature of the Phoenix [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Don't copy to another site, M/M, THE ARCANE SECRETS OF NATURE, and also love, science bitches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 08:18:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18616762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beginning_Returner/pseuds/Beginning_Returner
Summary: In which two solitudes meet, and undergo transformation thereby.My blogis right here. I mostly post history and archaeology with a smattering of good Hetalia. Feel free to give me a yell on ask or messenger over there if you enjoyed the fic!Author's disclaimer: Prince Di Sangro may be gayer than he was in reality in this fic, but that's just because he really loved his country, and to my mind love for country = gay for the relevant Hetalian in my fics.





	Subtle victory. Or, the Distillation of Sentiment.

One bright morning in 1748, Frederick turned to where Gilbert sat in a chair quite near his writing desk in the library of the newly occupied palace at Sanssouci. As always, the Incarnation was helping him get through the days' correspondence, providing his expert opinion on matters of state to his sovereign.

"Are you not bored with this state of affairs?"

Gilbert shrugged quizzically.

"Why should I be?"

"So many of my friends have grown tired of my court as of late." The king sighed. "Algarotti has gone back to Italy, to see what wonders of the ancients they are extracting in Herculaneum."

Gilbert smiled. "Your Majesty forgets that I am a native to these climes, unlike most of the foreign peacocks you endeavour to keep at your hyperborean court."

"Are you content, then? With my court, and with--myself."

"I daresay I am." Gilbert had no idea why the king was going on like this. Why, just last night, he'd expired beautifully on the royal bed, Frederick's mouth deep between his thighs. With a lover like that, what was there to complain?

Again, his ruler sighed. "Too bad then. I had thought perhaps your martial self might be bored with peacetime. That would have given me a better excuse to send you to Italy with a missive."

Gilbert frowned. "Why are you sending _me_ to Italy? To go pester Algarotti?"

"Far from it."

Frederick took out a key and opened one of the locked drawers in his writing desk, extracting a sealed letter from it.

"I would fain have a person of trust deliver this letter to a certain Neapolitan Prince of great renown. You will recall, perhaps, his treatise on infantry exercising, printed right after the end of our last war?"

"Oh-- that book. A well written volume, full of great insight." Count Algarotti had begun helping Frederick to translate and comprehend the volume, which was written in his native Italian. But then he'd run off without completing that task, as he often tended to do, and Gilbert was left to polish the rust off his own knowledge of the language and finish the job with Frederick. Many a pleasant night had been spent, half working through the text, half at work in each others' laps, to distract from the strenuous work.

"I quite agree. Which is why I would send you, a soldier who understands the tome fully, to deliver my appreciation to Prince Di Sangro personally."

"Won't you be lonely with me absent as well?"

"I anticipate you only being gone a few months. Besides, it would do you some good to bask in that country's urbane culture, and to see the ruins of old Empire whose language you master so well. Italians are such pleasant people to know, and I rather think you'd benefit from being acquaintanced with a few." 

"Your Majesty, are you honestly--"

"Oh, come now, I've always thought your serious self would highly benefit from a trip to lighthearted southern climes. Now go and deliver my letter, and amuse yourself in that hot and urbane land. The beauty of Italians is unmatched by any other land, and I daresay you'll find them still as callipygian as the famed statues of their antique ancestors." The king gazed wistfully out the window for a moment, to where the Greek bronze of the naked Antinous stood under its protective wrought iron canopy. Then briskly turning away, he produced a leather case from another desk drawer. "Here, a present for your journey."

Opening the receptacle, Gilbert found it contained a pair of glasses, but with black lenses. He examined them with considerable reserve.

"I've heard of these. Won't they make me look stupid?"

"I assure you, mon cher, that you already look exceedingly foolish when the rays from Phoebus's chariot pierce your eye and you must squint from it."

The king got up from his chair and cupped Gilbert's cheek in his hand. 

"And I have seen the look of pain upon your face, so quickly suppressed, as you suffer under the pitiless gaze of Helios, my pale Endymion."

His Majesty usually reserved that nickname for the bedchamber. Gilbert's skin flushed abruptly under the king's fingers, and his lips parted to receive the royal mouth with delicacy and grace.

Frederick's smile was full and satisfied as he plucked the leather case from Gilbert's fingers, extracted the contents, and held them out.

"This pair was sent to me by Prince Di Sangro himself as a gift to you. He writes they are made with a formula of his own invention."

"Oh, alright." Gilbert reluctantly took the glasses from Frederick's hands, and held them to his eyes. "I'll probably just end up seeing the world through a stained glass pane if I wear these but--Dear Lord."

He lowered the glasses again and stared at the king, dumbfounded.

"...The colours of the world are unchanged through these lenses, but the glare from the window is entirely diminished!"

Frederick smirked. "His highness the Prince is a renowned artificer. I trust his work is to your liking?"

"I- I daresay so!"

The king pinched Gilbert's buttocks and grinned happily. 

"Then put them on already, I can't wait to see how they look on you."

 

* * *

 

On Friday morning, Lovino was lounging, as was his wont, in a chair in the library of the Palazzo di Sangro, mind fully occupied by his reading.

His chosen lecture was the traveller’s tale of one Sieur Lucas, who had journeyed far and wide in the Orient that lay on the other side of the Mediterranean. He'd devoured the volume on Asia Minor and Greece at relative speed, and was now deep into the second part on Egypt. The descriptions of the catacombs of Abusir were so fascinating, it took him a moment to react when Prince Raimondo burst into the library with his usual exuberance.

"Behold," he began dramatically, brandishing a letter in one hand, "proof of true enlightenment in this world filled with wanton ignorance!"

Romano quickly placed his monogrammed bookmark in the volume and stood up.

"Wherefore the excitement?"

"My book on the exercising of infantry has garnered-- another admirer of highest degree! Come my dear Lovino, let us dance!"

Romano desperately wanted to enquire as to the identity of the noble admirer, but the Prince would evidently pay him no heed until they had executed the entirety of a ballet from Goldoni's lesser known runaway hit, _Gustaphus I, the King of Sweden_.

Thoroughly and exuberantly exhausted by the last series of jumps that rounded off the dance, the Prince collapsed into a nearby sofa, Lovino following suit next to him.

"So-- are you going to tell me who your august admirer is, or must I force the truth out of you," he managed between gasps. One hand inched closer to the Prince's impeccably breeched thigh.

"Much as I would appreciate submitting to your interrogation, I fear I must decline for now-- my wife has informed me in no uncertain terms that she will succumb to hysteria if I do not administer treatments more regularly and focus my efforts on her for the time being."

"Ah well." Romano withdrew his palm, only to have Raimondo immediately grab it and clasp it tightly.

"But to business! For this missive was sent to me by none other than il gran Federico, so rich in peace!" He paused. "Why, by the rod of Omphalos Apollo, his very name means that!" Di Sangro happily intertwined his fingers with Lovino's. "The letter arrived here by special messenger this morning. And I had certainty of its contents, for it was delivered unto my hands by a man bearing the sigil of a certain fraternity I hold dear."

Romano's eyes widened. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"On the contrary, it's one of the safest delivery methods I know. Praise to that enlightened sovereign for knowing of and using it so wisely! Besides..." the Prince smiled. "You are already a bearer of the Rose of the Grand Order as ordained by me, so you share the perils of our path. Did I ever tell you? Did I ever tell you? 'Twas of you I thought in naming our Order's inner circle, for your true substance is my most treasured secret under the rose." Di Sangro could feel Lovino's blush through his fingertips.

"Again, Highness flatters me all too much. Besides, if I was your inspiration, why did you establish the Order's rite as one of Egyptian style?"

"Ah. The reasons there are multiple. Egypt is the fount of all our wisdom, and I sought to bring this to the fore. But, I did think of you as well on this occasion. Have you not in you some dark memory of the Isaic rites, from the earliest days of your existence?"

"I most certainly do not--"

Darkness. He was wrapped from head to foot in robes, face veiled. He carried the brightly painted vessel of Osiris Canopus in procession to the altar.

Di Sangro saw the absence in his eyes and smiled. "Let me partake of the ritual through your lips, my perfect rose," he whispered.

Half of Romano came back to reality for a second. He nodded slowly, pressed his mouth to that of Raimondo, soft lips afire with the frankincense from the censers, the clink of the situlae, and the spiced meat offerings on the dishes.

The Prince sighed happily when it was over. "Truly, you are the veritable soul of my Order."

"I thought you were going to focus your attentions on your wife."

"A moment's distraction cannot count for much. But come, we must prepare!"

"For what?"

Di Sangro sprang up. "For the imminent coming of the King's emissary! The letter arrived somewhat late, and by my calculations, we have only a few weeks left prior to his arrival! Would you be so kind, my dear Romano, as to help me draw up an itinerary of entertainments? You know the region as you know yourself, after all."

"And breakfast?"

"Ah yes, I had quite forgotten about that."

"You generally do, unless I am around to remind you."

"Indeed! What should I ever do without you? Come now, quickly, before my darling spouse is irritated by our lateness!"

 

* * *

 

In the weeks leading up to the arrival of the messenger, Romano was occasionally troubled by fragments of strange dreams he felt certain were actually memories long since forgotten. There was a great library, and a boy with pale hair sitting under a ladder and flipping through a tome. He sat next to the boy, and read the words out loud on the page along with him. Sometimes, Romano would pointedly corrected the boy's pronunciation of Latin, and the boy would grimace but repeat after him before continuing.

Who was he?

The tunics both he and the other figure wore told him the memory was from many centuries ago.

Where was he?

 

* * *

 

On the day the emissary was scheduled to arrive, Romano and the Prince spilled down the grand staircase and into the main courtyard of the palazzo in full attire-- to find an empty coach, whose coachman was smoking a clay pipe and waiting somewhat irritatedly for his pay.

"Fella made me get up extra early for nothing. I told him you wouldn't be up that soon, but he just wouldn't listen. We get here, the place is deserted just like I said, and he just up and leaves me, says he's going to go explore the palazzo while he waits, and that the master'll foot the bill when he's up. Hey, you gonna pay me?"

The Prince had been about to dash off after hearing the coachman's explanation. He gave pause long enough to slap a coin purse in the man's hand, then headed back into the castle at full speed, Lovino right on his heels.

"I suggest we split up, my energetic friend," he said as they hurried up the main staircase, adorned with frescoes of farmers at work through the seasons. "I will first to my laboratory, for whose safety I fear. Worthy though this emissary may be, he may have other orders to spy as well."

"Don't you keep it under lock and key?"

"Of course I do, but with one such as him, one can not be sure."

"Just what manner of emissary is this?"

"One whose measure I have yet to take directly. Now off with you, and go and search the north wing!"

But no matter how much Romano searched, speeding past murals depicting the apotheosis of the Prince's ancestors, and throwing open the innumerable doors of the palazzo, the mysterious visitor seemed nowhere to be found.

The last portal he brusquely entered through turned out to be a linen closet, which contained two serving-woman who were evidently busied with something other than their household obligations. "Excuse me."

He slammed the door quickly and hoped their shrieks would not reach the ears of their superiors.

Now where could his mysterious guest possibly be hiding?

Sprinting pell-mell down a corridor, Romano's eyes barely had time to register the flash of a pale blue garment through an open portal. A portal that should have been closed, since it led to the bridge that joined castle to chapel. He skidded to a halt, and hurried back to investigate.

The figure was still standing as it had been seconds ago, leaning in contrapposto against one of the windows of the bridge and contemplating the street below.

He wore a raiment of robins-egg blue, embroidered in white thread with scrollwork along borders, buttonholes and cuffs. The figure turned, and lowered its black glasses to better inspect Romano. His eyes were the same celadon pale as his vest and waistcoat.

And as Romano looked, understanding finally bloomed in his mind. For the boy in his dream memories had the same eyes. And long ago, he'd sat with him in the Doge's library, avidly reading forbidden texts his father surely would have loved.

With a loud clack, the great clock above their heads attained the hour, and began to chime the furious first galloping strains of Oreste's famous aria in the opera from Händel. The antique hero of the musical drama sung passionately how he was prepared to lay down life and limb for his beloved friend.

Lovino stared at the silly cloistered boy who was now a man before him.

And Gilbert stared back at Lovino. He still recalled how those lips had smirked at him every time his Latin had proved faulty when reading the Ars Amatoria.

Quite close to the bridge, in the keyboardist's booth for the carillon, the Prince craned his neck out the window for a moment, and smiled wordlessly. The fated meeting he'd worked so carefully to engineer in collaboration with Federico had come to perfect fruition. The bridge of transformation that led from the material to the spiritual had already signalled the beginning of the Work, though the principal Elements knew it not.

**Author's Note:**

>  **A well written volume, full of great insight:** [Friederich indeed praised Raimondo's work.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Raimondo_di_Sangro)
> 
> **Antinous:** The [ancient Greek bronze statue](https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Altes_Museum_-_Betender_Knabe.jpg) generally referred to as "Antinous" in Frederick's time (and now known as "the praying youth"), is thought by some scholars to have symbolized Katte and his sacrifice for Fritz, drawing the parallel to Antinous and his sacrifice for his ruler, Hadrian (see Blanning, T., _Frederick the Great: King of Prussia_ , 2016, 191-2). This spectacle of the naked warmth of lovers shielded by ornate iron is a perfect symbol of Frederick's nature, in fact; his love for men, and love for country, all encapsulated.
> 
> **Sunglasses:** Many chemical substances, when burnt, produce a ridiculously bright flame that is insanely dangerous to look at without proper protective equipment (and you probably shouldn't look for more than a few secs even with the equipment, let's be honest here). Di Sangro, [who enjoyed inventing new types of fireworks since he was a teen](https://www.museosansevero.it/invenzioni-pirotecniche/?lang=en), probably indulged in such burn-offs quite often. Thus, in the realm of fiction, it is ridiculously easy to pretend that the Prince, a real-life genius, could have invented an early version of the polarized lens to make his experiments easier to conduct.
> 
> **Sieur Lucas:** You can read [the book](https://archive.org/details/voyagedusieurpa01lucagoog), with the part about Abusir starting at scan page 119, or book page 94. It's not particularly accurate, since it was ghostwritten and edited by several others (see Dawson _et al., Who Was Who in Egyptology, third edition, 1995, p 264), but hey. Any early traveller's accounts are always nice to have! Lucas' earlier memoranda on the area might have held more accurate data, but alas, those are lost..._
> 
> __
> 
> **"Rose of the Grand Order as ordained by me"/"Order's rite as one of Egyptian style":** Prince Di Sangro founded a Masonic Lodge in Naples in 1747. Its ceremonies were designated as the [_Traditional Egyptian Rite_](https://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rito_Egizio_Tradizionale). He subsequently created an even more secret clubhouse-- I mean inner circle, sorry-- and named it the _Rose of the Grand Order_.
> 
> __
> 
> **"my most treasured secret under the rose":** "Under the rose" has been a term used to refer to things spoken/done in secrecy since the low middle ages in Europe, though it seems the term [may have originated in Germany and the Netherlands](https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sub_rosa), while the Latin version, "sub rosa", [was a later fictive invention of the English](https://archive.org/details/proverbschieflyt01blanuoft/page/n249).
> 
> __
> 
> **Isaic rites:** Here's a [nice statue](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Priestess_of_isis.jpg) found in Romano's home territory, depicting a young priestess holding a situla vessel. And here's a [contemporary depiction](https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Isiac_water_ceremony.jpg) of the sort of goings-on that happened in a Roman Isaic ceremony.
> 
> __
> 
> **"the great clock above their heads":** When the Prince had finished building an aboveground passage bridge from his palazzo to the family chapel, he set atop it a mini columned temple that contained a [clock](https://www.museosansevero.it/orologi/?lang=it) which, when remotely operated from a booth nearby, would sound out any music the instrumentalist desired. It is unknown whether the booth was located on the palace or chapel end of the bridge, but the author assumes the former in this fiction. (NB: The English translation of the text linked above is [here](https://www.museosansevero.it/orologi/?lang=en), but it contains several inaccuracies when compared to the Italian text.)
> 
> __
> 
> **"the furious first galloping strains of Oreste's famous aria in the opera from Händel":** The Prince was a well known [bel canto freak](https://www.rinodistefano.com/en/articles/san-severo.php). So it's quite possible he knew [this work](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oreste), and the mythology surrounding [the true and unalloyed friendship of Orestes and his companion Pylades](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orestes_\(mythology\)#Orestes_and_Pylades).


End file.
